


Cage Sex

by coyotl



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Frottage, Knotting, M/M, NSFW, Not Safe for anything...lock the door, Oral Sex, PWP, Rimming, dub-con, some plot snuck in, werewolf dick is magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-19
Updated: 2014-02-19
Packaged: 2018-01-13 00:27:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1206079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coyotl/pseuds/coyotl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles snorted,  “Listen, Derek.  I understand you are... what?  A werewolf?  And you have a magical dick.  I understand it’s making me want to do very bad things with you.  So, can we get on with the very bad things?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cage Sex

**Author's Note:**

> So, for anyone wondering, this is a completely different and unrelated piece to the last, but still contains two characters who can and do hold their own against each other as well as with each other.  
> It is an AU that takes place in some unrelated future in some unknown South American war zone  
> Stiles grew up not knowing about werewolves. I have no idea if there is a Scott in this world because then the fucking started and it all went south.  
> I'm kind of at a weird place in my life.  
> Seriously. Did you read all that set-up? No, no, don't let me fool you, this is all just PWP. I even have a prologue in there (it's an appetizer really, a non-sex intro, a bloomin' onion of badassery, if you will, before the sizzling fajita platter that is magical high-inducing werewolf dick. And PORN. (eight freakin thousand words of porn and I really don't know what I am doing with my life, but someday if someone could tell me how to get paid doing this shit, that would be awesome.)  
> But anyway, don't go into this thinking anything happens. Because it doesn't. There's this really interesting background with all sorts of possibilities and then there's hot pretty much consensual cage sex. And that's it.  
> And, most likely, that will be all there will ever be of this story. Unless somebody else writes it, which, you know... Have at, my little ray of sunshine, I've got snickerdoodles in the oven...

*****

Prologue:

 

 _How was it possible to feel so alone?_  

Stiles was bouncing, nearly careening down a pock-marked dirt road in the middle of a convoy.  The road had not been a dirt road, at one point, but enough mines and bombs and mortar and rubble from surrounding buildings had churned the thin third-world asphalt and concrete back into some sort of slick mass.  

He was in an up-armored humvee, escorting some mid-level “Private Contract Executives” (and he got the way that his dad, a sheriff, talked about bounty-hunters and bail-bonds men, now, he really fucking did) back to the base for some mid-level logistics fuckery of which he cared nothing about.

On his last R&R he’d played poker for favors when he was way too high for his own good, and so today he got to be the one to Escort the PCE, or, as they called it, Deliver the Pizza.   _Most_ of the time what you delivered to HQ looked nothing like pizza.  Or hamburger.  Most of the time.

It was enough to make you sit tight and pretty, though.  Enough to sharpen you up, and fuck if Stiles didn’t love that feeling more than anything in the whole wide world.  But everyone knew that about him, that he had a kink for this particular kind of shit.  Hell, it wasn’t like he was the only one.  (In fact, he still couldn’t figure out if he’d won or lost the game.  He just woke up in possession of a PCE work order and missing a few others he was glad to see gone.  He was going to call it a win, either way.)

So where the fuck did that thought come from?  _Alone?_

“More like never alone, not even long enough to jack off.”  He muttered it quietly, knowing that the guys on his comm were used to the random senseless muttering.  He was scanning in every direction, practically humming, “Not even long enough to take a shi–”

And _that’s_ when it occurred to him.  _Alone_.  The streets were way too empty.  Or maybe not yet, but getting there, moms calling kids in and what little storefront glass there was was getting covered.  None of that was ever a good thing.  “Getting ghosty, isn’t it?”

He hadn’t been the only one to feel it.  He was getting murmurs of agreement from drivers up and down the line.

Wasn’t even a surprise when the Buffalo at the head of the convoy rolled over an IED seconds later.  Stiles had already been rolling to a stop.  Which was never a good thing, unless it was _the only good thing_ , which Stiles knew, in that particular moment, it was.  He was unloading the mercenaries in khaki and polo shirts when the gas truck nearly at the back of the column blew sky high and, as far as Stiles could tell from his own comm and the shouting he was leaving behind, everyone’s comm units fucked off completely.  _That_ was not exactly a new occurrence. 

He was already on his phone, _his phone_ , because you cultivate your assets while you’re in and out of a uniform, thank you very much.  Their nearest safe house was a brothel that always made Stiles twitchy.  It was too _nice_ , too well kept.  A whorehouse for drug dealers, not soldier boys, and high-end drug dealers meant cartels and cartels were The Enemy.  (Or one of them, at any rate, in the convoluted logic of relationships that had become what Stiles liked to refer to as the Pan American Clusterfuck of Fuckery he was in presently right in the middle of.)

Which meant, long and short, that Stiles was in no way going to walk his cargo right into the most obvious honey trap he’d ever seen.  Something was, as they say, afoot.  And he was _Delivery_ today which meant, long and short, that he was going to get these men to their Designated Drop at the Designated Time.  Hell, if worse came to worse Stiles could walk his cargo straight to a cab.  (There was a diner.  It was the cabbies’ diner and more often than not people would come to _them_ to pick up a cab.  It wasn’t like they were anything more than somebody’s car and a line on black-market gas, and it wasn’t like everybody didn’t use them.)

But the less outside involvement, the better.  He called his dealer instead.

Maybe he’d lost some sort of a social filter – wait, no, probably he’d never had one, and probably he was pushing some boundaries by the way the men looked at him, but hey, he was Executing his own Mission, and they could fuck the hell off.

“Seriously, _buey_.  I’ll fucking blow you _myself_ if you get your ass out here, _now_.”  Javier laughed on the other end and they worked out a feasible meetpoint in between the filthiest talk some of his present company had probably ever heard.  

But Javier knew how serious it was because he never called for shit like this unless it _was_ serious.  Stiles took the fucking bus if he was stranded on his own.  There was always a fucking bus and those routes tended to stay clear of high explosives because a) it was in bad form to blow up women and children and b) the army stayed off heavy civ routes anyway because men with guns and big targets painted on their back did not like to get stuck behind traffic.  He liked the busses, anyway.  

The last time he took the bus, he got to pet a chicken.  

He knew the back streets decently enough to have a good idea of where he was and how best to stay under the radar and get to their destination, but he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t puckering the whole way there.  The explosions, cracks of gunfire and thunder of machine guns wasn’t dying down behind them.  At least it wasn’t getting any closer.

He had a second to think as they slid through the back alleys like ghosts.  There was no doubt in his mind that at least one of those bombs was blown on direct command, meaning no pressure plate or timers, just some guy with a button.  Meaning something along the column was targeted specifically.  

He would lay his money that they had their eye on that fresh batch of fancy ammo the execs brought with them in cargo boxes spread out through three different trucks on the line.  It wasn’t like he’d know if he was carrying a high-value target, but he doubted it was one of these mercs.  They looked like any other run-of-the-mill rent-a-soldier he’d seen.  They kept up decently enough and kept their mouths shut, which was a plus.

Stiles got back on the phone when they were getting close, Javier and he working it smoothly enough that the car barely had to roll to a stop before they were back on the road.  Javier drove with the practiced efficiency of a man raised in an active war zone.

They were climbing out of the car inside the base walls before a single one of his delivery PCE’s so much as sweated out his pits.  There had been no talking until the car stopped and Javier struck up an idle conversation with the guard crew, all of whom he had an easy friendship with.  

Stiles watched as one of the PCE’s approached Javier and handed him a card.  Javier took it with a casual nod, but Stiles knew it would be both a very dangerous and very profitable relationship for his friend.  Which was exactly the kind of thing Javier was into.  After all, he _was_ a drug dealer for one of Deaton’s boys (likely amongst many more, Stiles didn’t ask.  It was impolite).

He was startled a second later as the head-PCE held out a hand for Stiles.  Stiles nodded and gave his people-friendly face.  The kind he said he didn’t give two fucks.  It didn’t discourage the guy in the slightest.

“I like your style, kid.  Give me a call if you ever decide to earn an actual paycheck.”  He handed Stiles a card that read Argent Inc.  Apparently the guy’s name was Chris.

Stiles bit his tongue and nodded.  He dropped his heavy gear and got Javier to drive him off before someone made him sit in front of a desk and chat about his day.  He was either going to get fucked up or punch someone, and Deaton really hated it when one of his squad broke out with the random punching, so...

 

In retrospect, he should probably not have gotten as fucked up as he managed to.  And he definitely shouldn’t have ended his night shooting his handgun into the air while relieving himself on the mayor’s lawn.  Luckily, he fell backwards when he passed out so that at least he didn’t go down face first in his own piss.

 

Within two weeks, he’d been kicked out of the army, kicked off the base, and had taken up sleeping in cheap shacks and working odd jobs.  

At least, that was what it looked like.

Turned out, the Argent company was a cover, and Chris Argent was the head of an operation that was high-tiered enough that even Deaton folded, telling Stiles that he’d be an idiot not to sign on for it.  They were fast-tracking him out of training and giving him his signing and first-year bonuses _in cash_ as soon as the paperwork moved through Langley.

 

He didn’t even manage to see that money in the bank before he woke up from a car crash to find himself in a containment area that looked suspiciously like a dog pound.   A few days later, he was joined in the middle of the night after what sounded like a violent dog-fight by the dour-faced guy he’d come to know as Derek, another drifter gringo he’d seen around town, working the odd security or driving job, never entirely on the right side of the law.

It turned out the guy had been a PI stateside.  It turned out that right before they were taken, they had both been looking into the same organization, one that had been around forever but was suddenly growing fast.  

Derek had his own reasons to be investigating, and Stiles didn’t volunteer his.  There was one detail they didn’t mention, but Stiles was certain both of them knew it quite well.  This cartel that they had only just been scratching the surface of – what they did, first, best and most of all?  

Dogfighting.

There was a serious rumor, one which was starting to look like a fact to Stiles, that they fought much more than dogs.

 

*****

 

There was no avoiding what was coming at Derek like a freight train.  The fresh-faced soldier boy was smelling like hot and horny, burning with the juice their captors were pumping into him.  Apparently, not enough steroid to kill his sex drive, no.  At least, not yet.

It was subtle, what they had been doing to the kid.  Definitely adding some bulk, but whatever they were making him do on any given day, whether it be hauling rocks or lifting weights, they were making him lean and powerful, not musclebound. They must have been intent on keeping him fast and hungry. 

Likely, then, intended to be a part of a team.  He’d be a good fighter to have on your team, Derek knew that more than most because Derek knew that whatever Stiles had been getting up to in well-worn civs and carrying a burner gun in his pocket, he had, until fairly recently, been one of Deaton’s boys.  That particular squad of ‘North American Military Support Personnel’ were not anything you fucked with.

Derek found that quality in a man to be stupidly attractive.  

And now there he was, leaning against the bars of Derek’s cage, positively reeking of female dog estrus.  Like he’d rolled around with a bitch in heat.  Which, it turns out, was pretty much exactly what he had been doing,

Even if Stiles didn’t realize a thing about the smell or the dog’s state, his ears were red and he was grinning to himself as he was finishing the rundown of how he’d been locked in a small room with this attack dog but managed to pin it before it went apeshit.  

The threat he’d quashed had been very real.  Even in heat, sometimes especially in heat, these particular dogs were a significant threat.  They’d be trained to fight and then set lose in places people shouldn’t be, allowed to form their own hierarchies and structures when they were not collared and set to guard or to fight in a match.  They could let the dogs go somewhat wild because the werewolves kept anything excessive from happening, since they had to share their living space with each other.   Humans were usually kept locked up deeper on the grounds.  Indoors.  

Except for this time.  Derek had been darted, doped, kidnapped, and dropped into a cell while Stiles, his cell-neighbor, could walk free around their little enclosure, so he could come lean on the bars at Derek’s cell and annoy him whenever he pleased.  

One of Deaton’s boys, allowed free reign of their kennels, four empties and their two, arranged around a courtyard which was open to the sky and had a little tree in the middle fighting  its way up through the hardpack dirt.  

There was an electrified field from rooftop to rooftop above the courtyard, you could see the hair-fine wires glint in the rising and setting sun, in a grid thankfully large enough that careful birds could come in, and regrettably small enough that stupid birds killed themselves on it with depressing regularity.  

The fuckheads that were holding them had to know that this kid, of any in the world, was not going to be held captive for long in that place.  And yet Derek was the one in the cage.  And of course, when the kid was supposed to have fought with some dog in what sounded like an online event, he quashed the threat exactly the way Deaton had trained his boys to fight.  

With economy of motion.  Don’t kill if you can maim, don’t maim if wounding is enough.  Use the method of least resistance.  Charm, fuck and bribe your way around a person, or a faction, or a whole damn city, until you knew everything and everyone.  Kill only the most effective target, not the one most convenient. 

They put one of Deaton’s boys in a room with a dog, as if any of them couldn’t have foreseen the outcome.  Maybe someone had.  Maybe there were outside odds on no injuries happening.  It wasn’t unheard of, especially on human odds.  Sometimes they passed out before any damage had really been done, from nerves or the pain of minor injuries in the right places.  In this case, it had only been matter of a minute or two before Stiles had the bitch on his side.  Apparently Stiles was shyly proud of the fact that he was good with dogs.  

Of course he would be.  

Could he be any more devastating?

Honestly, he kid was killing him.  Derek could feel the sweet slide of heat pooling in his groin.  The moon was pulling tight in his blood.  Coming due and rich and full, and he could feel it filling him, rocking in him like a rising tide.  That kid should probably stay the hell away from him for the next few days.  The full moon wasn’t due for another night but he could already feel the tug loosening his bones.  Making him liquid.

And Derek was trying to track what Stiles was saying, trying not to move too much or give anything away, but he really needed the kid to back off.  He’d apologize for it later.  It wasn’t like they could avoid each other, but he needed the kid gone for the moment, before all the ideas that were starting to fizz in his brain came together with the urges that were starting to boil in his blood.  

He gave out a little chuff of a laugh.  “Maybe they haven’t been giving you steroids after all.  Maybe they want to make you their little dog-cuddling bitch.”

Stiles rolled his eyes.  Coming from the regiment he knew the kid came from, he knew Stiles would be unimpressed.  No doubt Stiles had been called a bitch more than once in his life, and no one fared well for it.  Derek hoped the ridiculous comment disgusted Stiles enough to make him go away.  After all, outright asking him to leave _never_ worked.

Of course he didn’t go away.

“Yeah, that’s big talk from a guy in a cage wearing a collar and eating from a dog food bowl.”  He skipped a beat then turned his face up against the bars.  “Or are you just projecting?  Is that why they won’t let you out?  Are they worried that if they cut you loose you’re going to start humping the furniture?”  

Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Guess Why Derek is in a Cage.  One of the kid’s favorite games.  Not that he could blame the kid, Derek played it himself.  And today, Derek already had his own ideas about that. 

Stiles had decently impressive reflexes, but he was no match to a werewolf’s speed.  Before Stiles had a chance to react, he had Stiles by the throat in one hand and by his balls in the other, for the first time thankful for the kennel’s ridiculous massive iron cage bars with their wide gaps.  His lips twitched a small smile at the way the kid was already half-hard for him.

Stiles froze for an instant while Derek traced the outline of his growing cock with his palm but then exploded into a frenzy of motion.  Derek let him think he had the upper hand enough that Stiles managed to turn around before Derek tightened his grip again, pulling Stiles back hard, hand snug and sure around his throat.  

Derek pushed out with his elbow, forcing Stile’s back to bow out and bringing him off balance completely for a split second.  It was too fucking beautiful how he fought back, how he refused to give, even while his muscles were softening under his touch and he flooded the air with the heavy smell of _want._

Ohhh.  Derek knew he was in a lot of trouble.

And in that split second, he had an alarming revelation about why he was there in a cage while they trained junior to be a cage-match champion in some drug lord’s gladiator ring.  And he had a pretty good idea who was behind it.  There was a very small pool of werewolves who were willing to ‘manage’ werewolves deemed as rogues and sold off into circuses like these.  

Werewolves didn’t have jails.  They used to just kill each other.  Now, they had entertainers with cages.  His uncle being chief among them.

And if that was the case...

He might as well go with it, because trying to fight the setup was pointless.

And how it was he hadn’t figured it out sooner, he didn’t have a clue.  For fuck’s sake, they were drowning the kid in bitch-smell and throwing him at Derek.  To call an event like this ‘fate’ would be maybe paying something an unfair compliment.

His voice had gotten hot.  Crisp.  Quiet and calm.  Soft like velvet breathing on Stiles’ ear.  “Humping the furniture?  Do you see any furniture around here?  Seriously?  I’m thinking they won’t let me out because if they did I would take you down like my own personal little rag doll.   I’d fuck you for days.  I’d fuck you until the only things you knew were my name and my dick. I’d get you so hooked that you’d be begging for it.  All. The. Time.”

Stiles was so focused on the hand around his throat and on Derek’s words in his ear that he didn’t notice Derek wetting a finger.  He was bowed out enough that his pants left a gap, and he hadn’t even noticed Derek’s lower hand until he was slipping his spit-slick finger over Stiles’ hole, rubbing as Stiles tried to squirm and shimmy, unsure of which direction he wanted to go, hand on his throat keeping him from going far anyway.  Stiles growled and gritted his teeth while Derek rubbed until the skin swelled and the muscle opened, trying to take his finger in.  Derek slid in only once, then let go of Stiles completely, retreating to the back of his cell.

Stiles didn’t move, didn’t say anything for a few breaths before he straightened and walked off, not looking back once.

Derek knew that it had been cruel and excessive.  He could also imagine what it would be like for the kid, not being able to get the feeling of Derek’s finger to go away, like it was still there, the spit taking effect and sending little waves of warmth and pleasure through his skin.  

He knew how that felt from personal experience, since a couple of his cousins had no boundaries about anything and would corner him and do it to him sometimes.  He’d spend hours locked in his bathroom after that.  And even though it was sick, he’d actually kind of liked it.  A lot.  (They weren’t what you’d call ‘well adjusted’ kids.  The whole lot of them)

Werewolves were magic.  That meant werewolf _juices_ were magical, too.  Kate was the one to teach him just what that could mean to a human.  He could heal small wounds and large bruises by licking them.  His spit both stimulated pleasure signals and brought blood to the surface.  The licking did this and soothed as well.  He would eat Kate out for hours and she would lay there in bliss, coming with quiet shudders from time to time.

He had held Stiles so close that he could still smell him.  He could almost taste the cooled sweat on his skin, the iron-rich dust that covered everything.  He wondered what it would be like to lick Stiles _everywhere_.  What it would be like to do it if the kid were tied up and Derek were in wolf form.  This, this he couldn’t help.  This was the wolf he was.  He had a devious lupine side and it had many many plans.

 

_He wanted to claim the smartass bastard, wanted to watch that cool self-effacing exterior shatter.  Wanted him begging.  Wanted him taking Derek down to the root, taking his knot and fucking himself on it until they were both rolling in their own come, Stiles on the bed below them, he locked inside the kid’s ass, thrusting lazily for hours, keep himself hard and knotted, coming in waves._

_It was the wolf in him that was pleased that Stiles still had no idea there even was such a thing as a werewolf.  Wanted Stiles to come, all night long.  Wanted to fill Stiles, everywhere he could, wanted to rub his come all over Stiles and watch the high take him down.  Wanted to make Stiles come by rubbing himself on the skin just under Stiles’ belly, wanted to make Stiles watch, make him understand just how helpless he was.  Wanted Stiles to beg him not to stop._

_At the end of the night, in the clear dawn light, he wanted to slide himself into Stiles again, standing over him as he lay on the bed, holding his legs raised and open, his hole soft and fucked open, swollen and warm.  Stiles’ eyes, soft and open._

_For the first time in a long time Stiles would be aware and sober enough to wonder just what a knot might be and why Derek had one, and why he’d been feeling so strange.  In that moment of clarity Derek would pull Stiles flush on to him and shift.  He would get bigger.  Only a little longer but considerably more substantial.  With a knot that was beyond ridiculous and shaped so that it was nearly impossible to pull out until it subsided.  He’d be able to see it, just a little, a bulge at the base of Stile’s belly that would move when he did._

_It wouldn’t kill Stiles.  If he didn’t fight it, it probably wouldn’t even hurt.  But then, he’d also have to not be fighting the fact that he was looking at a werewolf and that this werewolf had locked his dick into his ass.  But here was the thing.  By this time, Stiles would be so keyed on Derek that all Derek would have to do would be to rock a little and say ‘Come for me, Stiles’  and the kid would._

_He’d come as he panicked and tightened his ass.  He’d come trying to pull away, and Derek would be flooding him with precome, deep inside, where his blood vessels were near the surface and his bloodstream easily infused, and the more he struggled the better it would feel, this flood of shuddery warmth, so that eventually, before he could help himself, he would be milking Derek again, milking his knot, grinding and twisting himself on it, begging for more._

_When Derek came, Stiles might even nod off on the flood of whatever this werewolf rush was.  Like many things, it was concentrated in come, and far stronger when Derek was wearing his wolf.  So Stiles would sort of drift for a while, still knotted on him.  And then, as a further reaction, he would wake up with renewed urgency, fucking himself frantically onto Derek.  After that, the playing field will have been leveled, and they would spend days riding each other, sucking each other off and generally not keeping their fingers out of each other._

_By the time they came down from that, whether or not they ever did it again, whether or not Stiles despised him, all of that will have been rendered immaterial._

_When they were dropped in a room and told to fight, they would have an edge many knew nothing about.  And their captors would have control of the boy, because they kept his wolf in a cage.  And even if they hated each other, the boy would never leave his wolf to sit alone in a cage._

_There was more than one way to be an alpha, after all, and more than one way to claim a member for your pack._

 

Of course, there was also reality and Derek had to accept that things were going to be a hell of a lot messier, and that he was marginally too considerate to spring _‘Surprise! Werwolf!’_ while Stiles was trapped on his cock.  Not that what he was planning was any better.  Might even be worse.

If they unlocked his door.  

Truly, he shouldn’t kid himself.  Whoever had set this up knew what they wanted.  It was almost a full moon.  They laid in a metric ton of provisions while Stiles was off cavorting with his bitch.  

They were going to unlock the door.  

He was actually a bit surprised that Stiles hadn’t noticed the extra supplies yet, but then he wasn’t going to be noticing much of anything for a while, now.  He could hear a small shuddering groan break the sullen silence.  

At least, when they did unlock his door, Stiles was going to be ready for him.  And even if they didn't, Derek was going to have the pleasure of listening to Stiles jack off all night long.  He might even snicker the way his cousins had.

It took a little longer than he thought it might, long enough that Derek could smell the come Stiles had already spilled, listened to his desperate panting threading the line into sobbing.  Derek had been half-asleep, picturing those sounds coming from a creature bound so tightly in stark white linen that the only thing exposed was its little pink hole and its soft full mouth.  

A small quiet click woke him up completely.  It was the automated lock disengaging.  Not exactly a revelation.  

He could feel the moon rising, could feel his claws dropping and his fangs extending for a second or two, like stretching, before he pushed his way out of his goddamned cell quietly and walked to the cell a few doors down.

Stiles was flushed, head to toe.  Naked, laying on his low cot with his legs spread wide, deft fingers sliding into himself and over his cock.  Beautiful, long fingers.  He looked at Derek speculatively, with a tilted head and narrowed eyes, beckoning with a nod, so Derek dropped his pants and kneeled, sliding his dick into Stiles’ hand as he crouched, pressing against Stiles’ already heat-slicked cock.

Stiles jumped for a second but didn’t loose rhythm, slicking Derek down against himself, looking at him with a crisp grin.  “Is this?  Not that I’m complaining, ‘cause this is viagra times fifty, but is this you?  Are you doing this to me?”

Derek nodded, grinding down and trapping their cocks between their bellies, and Stiles dropped his head back on another groan, moving his hand to squeeze and twist over their heads.  

Derek stilled though, just for a breath.  “Yeah, kid.  It’s me making you desperate.  My spit, my skin.  My sweat.”

Stiles gave a toothy grin.  “Your come.”

Derek grinned back, knowing that this surprising level of comfort was going to be desperately short-lived.  But before Derek could go on about the inevitability of it all, or hell, just suggested that the kid suck his cock for a while until he was too high to really care what was happening, he knew he had to tell the truth.

It was the only way he could depart from this particular script. 

And Stiles?  Well, Stiles was already two steps ahead.  “This is why you’ve been locked in a cell?  I don’t think so.”  

Stiles slid his lower hand around and cupped their balls, rolling them softly against each other and grinding his cock up hard and firm, legs planted like he could rub himself against Derek’s stomach for hours.  Derek was fast loosing the thread.  He could say he pushed down to spare Stiles so much effort, but it was really just his entire lower half giving out for a few seconds.  He gave into the desperate need for a good honest grind before this got ugly.  Because it was going to get ugly.

He pushed himself away, finally, up on to his knees, holding Stiles down with a hand on his belly.  Stiles raised his hands and nodded with a gasp.  “Okay, okay, I get it.  Business first.  So, someone really wants us to fuck.  So, you know, Yaay, us!  But why would somebody want that?  And what does this have to do with everything else, these shots they keep giving me.  The training?  And, more importantly, that shit you said earlier, about the fucking for days –  was it really... I mean... did you mean it?  Ahhh, and could you please?  I mean, if you meant it.”

Well.  Nice, but there was little doubt that the willingness would be short-lived.  

“It’s nowhere near that simple.”  He warned and shifted, not into the largest beast he could be, but he shifted enough that Stiles wasn’t going to be able to doubt what he was looking at.

Stiles had already started jacking Derek off absent-mindedly.  He gasped and squeezed tight as Derek shifted.  His eyes went wide and down, first, then up.  He groaned, looking back down and running his hand over the entirety of Derek’s cock, including the newly formed knot.  He ran his hands over the light fur on Derek’s haunches and groaned again, pulling Derek in, trapping their dicks between them and throwing his head back.

“That is sooo fucking hot.  I never thought I’d be into furries, man, but holy shit.”

He pulled one of Derek’s hands over as he kept close and tight, sliding a claw into his mouth.  Tonguing it, sucking it lightly before pulling it out. 

Stiles locked his eyes with Derek’s, smoldering into them.  “Bet those things could kill easy, couldn’t they?”

Derek’s brain short-circuited so hard he was surprised there wasn’t an audible click.  This had not been a part of the plan.  He was supposed to claim the kid, bind them together without changing him physically.  Once they were bound they would fight together.  After tonight, Derek would have been able to explain this to Stiles and Stiles wouldn’t doubt his sincerity, he wouldn’t have to, he would just _know_.  They only ever needed to do this once.

But he hadn’t expected willing participation in the binding process. (After all, he wasn’t exactly a willing participant either, although he had no complaints about the fighter they wanted him bonded to.)  

He had expected, after he shifted, to let the kid freak out and run around in the tight darkness, expected him to fight until he’d worn himself out, and then to have his way for as long as both he and his wolf wanted.  After all, once Derek had so much as licked into Stile’s mouth, Stiles would have been more than happy with anything they did.  Much, much more than happy when all was said and done

But he had shifted and Stiles was pretty fucking clear-eyed and _still_ squirming under him, pulling him down into slow rolls.  He was looking at Derek thoughtfully, one thumb rubbing over the spot his eyebrow should be.  “You aren’t going to kill me.  You aren’t supposed to kill me.  And it’s not about your magical sperm, either.  But I can’t wait to taste that.  Holy shit, you don’t even know...”

Stiles was biting his lower lip, turning his head a little so he could watch them, slipping his hand between them, sliding those long deft fingers all over Derek’s cock so intimately that it choked a surprised groan and thrust out of Derek.  Stiles’ pupils blew at the sound and his grin widened as he twisted and slicked Derek’s cock mercilessly for a while, dropping back when it was just on the edge of getting somewhere, slowing them down again, grounding Derek with his voice.

“We’re supposed to fight _together_ , aren’t we?  Like a team?  That’s why this?  If we fuck first you won’t mistake me for enemy when you’re in the middle of a frenzy?”  

He said it with a smirk.  A smirk Derek would very much like to fuck into because, really?  He was half in wolf skin, fucking Stiles and managing to have a conversation.  What kind of a frenzy he was supposed to be loosing himself to?  

If this was how it was going to go...  “I have an idea.  Why don’t you take your foot out of your mouth for just a minute and suck my dick, instead, Stiles?”

And Stiles laughed.  Bright, happy.  Just laughed.

He tilted his head just a little, looking at Derek with soft eyes.  “This is... This is fucking crazy.  This is insane, but it’s okay, ‘cause I’ve done plenty of insane.  It’s like Deaton says – Be In The Now.  Well, he wasn’t the first to say it, but he was the first to say it to _me_ anyway.  So, yeah.  In the _now_.”  He ground again for emphasis, both of them still hard and sweat-slicked.  “Yeah, so this is now.  Just to clarify.  I’m not sure how it’s going to go down, but we are going to fuck.  And, for the record, I am down with that.  Very much down with it.  Also, I guess I have an animal... or, monster kink?  Yeah, so there is that.  Also, I, uhh, have no fucking clue how it’s supposed to happen, but I swear to christ, Derek, my ass is _salivating_ for that... ah... knot? yeah.  well.”

A _monster kink_.  As in, he didn’t have to hide it.  He hadn’t even been afraid of his knot.  He _wanted_ it.  Even while could still talk to Stiles, while Stiles was doing more than just begging.  

Stiles was getting to know his wolf from the inside out.  When this was all said and done, if Stiles willfully submitted to Derek, he’d be a devastating foe to any werewolf.  Including Derek.  _That_ thought made Derek’s cock twitch.

He cleared his throat, fangs gone, knot still there but down to human size, grin tight and just a little mean  “You’re wet for me, aren’t you, Stiles?”  

Stiles looked a little uncomfortable for a split second before he decided he didn’t care.  “So, what, you lubricated me with nothing more than trace amounts of spit?”

Derek shook his head.  “No, that’s you.  Your reaction to me.”

And that pulled a huge lopsided grin out of Stiles.  “ _Seriously?_   Self-lubricating proximity reaction?  Why is _that_ not the super power that everyone’s talking about???”

It was enough lightness to pull Derek back from the edge, even with the moon screaming over his head.  “Stiles... None of this is really you.  It’s reactions, you understand that?”

Stiles snorted,  “Listen, Derek.  I understand you are... what?  A werewolf?  And you have a magical dick.  I understand it’s making me want to do very bad things with you.  So, can we get on with the very bad things?”  

He narrowed his eyes a little when Derek responded with stillness and a serious stare. Kept talking with a huff.  “Don’t know us _Deaton Boys_ as well as you think you do, wolf.  There is a Rule for this situation.  If someone gives you a fuck drug, you fuck.  At least until your head is clear enough that you can stop fucking.  Also, a Primary Rule.  Never throw away an asset, never turn your back on an alliance.  This whole... thing.  It’s supposed to make us stronger, right?  So we’ll have an edge?  I’m guessing we’re gonna need it.”  

But then, he slowed down, shook his head with a little frown.  “On the other hand, fuck that,”  Stiles murmured, rutting up against Derek again.  “This shit here is fucking badass.  If _this_ is what we need to do to be a stronger team, I vote we do it every day.  Multiple times, even.   Until we’re so bonded we’re sick of each other’s faces.”  And after another pause, another lazy rut, Stiles finished.  “Then, we can fuck each other’s faces.” 

He would have pulled it off, too, if he’d been able to hold back a snort of laughter.

This was not.

Derek had no idea what to do with this.  Nothing good was supposed to come of his being outcast as thoroughly as he had been, then found and trapped by his own uncle.  And he was being handed this kid on a silver platter.  Did they know he’d be this way?  Was any of this even real? Was Stiles even a real person?  Was this really just some guy, a good match someone had scoped out as a likely candidate to both fight well and submit to an Alpha bond?

Had he gotten to know a real person as they sat in these cages?  Derek thought so.  The kid had been tortured for a while.  Beaten daily and routinely under the guise of training,  Derek had seen all that.  They had talked each other through it.  He _knew_ Stiles.  Or, at least, he had known a side of him, the side which hadn’t involved his dick.  

And now, here was Stiles.  Being his however Derek wanted it, holding Derek with easy touches he could break free of with a twitch.  Not pushing.  But wanting, oh god wanting.  Derek could taste it in the air.  It was possible Derek let it go on a bit too long.  It was possible, however, that he held off on making a move for exactly the right amount of time.

Stiles stilled, eventually, shaky from being on the edge of _enough_ for far too long, and he rolled over on to his stomach.  He made himself comfortable, wrapped his arms around the pillow he snugged his head into and raised his knees, ass in the air, hole open and glistening, practically _sighing._

~~~

_Did he really have to draw a fucking flow chart, Derek?_

Stiles groaned with deep satisfaction when he finally felt skin rubbing the outside of his hole.  He rubbed himself back onto the fingers, couldn’t help the slide and roll of his hips, settling comfortably into a rocking rhythm as the pressure of the fingers increased but didn’t breach him yet.

He jumped when Derek breathed in, close to his ear.  “It’s going to hurt, taking the knot, if you don’t let me come on you first, you know that, right?”

Stiles nodded his head quickly.  “Don’t want get fucked up first.  It’s what would happen, right?  I mean, if just a little spit fucked me up that bad, it would have to.   Besides, I’m guessing it’s the _right_ kind of pain.  And I want to remember this shit in the morning.”  

“Oh, don’t worry, kid, we won’t be done in the morning. You’ll remember this for your whole life.”  That did not sound like an exaggeration.  After a breath or two, Derek asked, soft and quiet, “The _right_ pain, Stiles?”  Derek pressed against Stiles’ hole, his fingers flattened and wide.

Stiles bobbed a desperate nod, couldn’t hide the whine.  Didn’t fucking want to, “Oh, hell yeah.  Yeah, some of that would be.... Yeah.  _Please yes_.”  The last was little more than a breath, not something he meant to say out loud.  

Derek slid three fingers in at once, the slickness keeping his skin from tearing but not keeping Stiles from feeling stretched so full so suddenly that he was pinned and couldn’t move, couldn’t hardly breathe, feeling like a puppet on the end of those fingers, frozen and _wanting_.  Couldn’t move at all, and it was too much and it was painful and delicious and he never wanted it to end.  He rocked himself, just a little, on those fingers.

Stiles’ eyes were open, watching Derek’s face as he gently started working Stiles open even wider.  He started to whisper something and Derek stopped, fingers buried deep and pulling him open.  He leaned in and listened.

_“Yes.  Please, yes.  Anything, everything.  Anything you want.  Please.”_

Derek leaned down on an elbow, pumping his fingers shallowly as he looked into Stiles’ eyes.  “Anything, Deaton Boy?  Because If you say _anything you want_ I’m going to take that to mean that you want me to pin you on my knot right fucking now.  You could take it, you know.  Without injury.  Or, at least, no injury that would last the night.  Which isn’t to say it would be an entirely _comfortable_ experience for you.”  

Derek fucked his fingers deep into Stiles, sometimes adding a fourth and pushing in hard and twisting, sometimes slipping just one or two in and touching him inside, everywhere, finding his nerve endings and rubbing deep, the same way Stiles would have fingered a girl’s clit when she was soft and swollen.  

“If you say _anything you want_ , I’m going to shift right after I knot you.  I won’t even give you time to adjust.  If you say _please, Alpha_ , I will not hold back except to keep you from injury.  If you keep walking down this road and don’t just _keep your mouth shut_ , kid, I _am_ going to make you my bitch.  And then, eventually, I am going to teach you how to make an Alpha Werewolf _your_ bitch.”

Stiles looked at him from the comfort of his pillow, eyes bright.  “Oh, I don’t think I’ll need your help with that one, kemo-sabe.  But you know, go ahead, have your way.  When I said anything I meant  _anything_ so fucking _Please, Alpha_ , knot me so hard I can’t breathe.”

~~~

Something in him changed the minute Stiles called him _Alpha,_ begging, ass in the air and _open_ for him.Stiles was his, now, because that was what he wanted.  Stiles called Derek Alpha before he was really even high.  Not that Stiles knew exactly what that meant, literally, but he knew well enough.  He knew in spirit, and that was enough for the bond to take nicely. 

Derek lined up his cock and shoved in, hard and steady.  He paused, though, as his knot rested against the outside of Stiles’ rim, pushing slow.  “Feel this?”  He asked.  “Yeah, this is nothing.”  He rolled his hips for a few seconds, listening to Stiles’ quiet whimpers.  “Jesus, you really are wet for me, aren’t you?”  

He made Stiles swallow whatever witty thing he was going to say by seating him on to his dick completely, slipping the knot past his not-quite loosened hole so quickly it would have felt like an explosion, rim snapping hard and tight back on to the base of his dick, swallowing him up and holding him hard.  Stiles shuddered from it, stilling again when Derek started a small rocking motion, pulling and pushing, making room for himself, waiting just that single breath before he shifted.

Stiles had already been cussing breathlessly, but when Derek shifted he shouted in shock and came, babbling one half-word after another.  The contractions around Derek’s cock started pulling precome out of Derek, so he leaned in and whispered, “Try to keep yourself loose, kid.  There’s a serious rush about to kick in.”

Of course he didn’t listen, and of course he spent a few seconds scrabbling, discovering accidentally exactly what the knot was for, how it rubbed the prostate into tightening up, and Derek encouraged the exploration, tugging just enough to build some serious pressure on the spots he’d just been rubbing, then rolling his hips in obscenely long rolls.  

Stiles keened, dropping down on to the mattress, begging Derek not to ever ever stop. He couldn’t pick himself up on his knees anymore because they were spread as far apart as he could get them as he bucked and rolled his hips all over Derek’s knot.  Stiles groaned deep and dirty when Derek’s hands spread him open, pushing his cock even deeper, grounding himself inside of Stiles and laying there, still moving just enough to drive Stiles insane, to make him roll and buck and grind against him like a stripper. 

He draped himself over Stiles’ back and ran a knuckle over Stile’s cheek.  “You still with me, Kid?”

Stiles cracked an eye open and cracked out half a grin.  “Sure thing, Papa Bear.  Why don’t you fuck me good and proper, now?  Show me what the hell that thing was made for.  _Please_ , Daddy.”

Derek made him swallow that laugh, too.  Almost turned it into a sob as he rutted into Stiles, pushing and pulling hard enough that all Stiles could do was hold on, open up and _take_ it.  He bracketed Stiles at his shoulders and set a punishing pace, not just because it was what he needed to get off, but because as much as Stiles may have been along for this, there was also a thready edge eating its way into Stiles’ voice.  He was getting to the edge of his natural limits.

He fucked hard and fast until he was close to coming, then pulled Stiles up, holding him so that he had no purchase, so that Stiles was impaled on his cock, back of his head pressed against Derek’s shoulder by a hand on his throat.  He wrapped his other arm around Stiles’ middle and gave a few more brutal thrusts, practically punches into Stiles before he finally came, knot blowing up hard and fat just after he emptied out with slow, deep contractions.

Stiles was groaning, gripping hard on the arm at his throat as his whole body shuddered in waves and his feet slipped uselessly below him.  If Stiles was going to mouth off, then yeah, Derek was going to make the fucker ride the high perched on his dick the whole time.  Besides, the way he was writhing was delicious.

Derek rocked up into him in a leisurely fashion, playing lazily with Stiles’ cock, long since gone permanently half-hard, and waited until he felt Stiles _let go_ , completely, every muscle in him loosening before Derek finally dropped both of them down on their sides.

He ran his hands down Stiles’ body, as much as he could reach, in long soothing strokes, prepared for Stiles to come down off the initial high like a bullet, but Stiles just slipped back nice and easy. 

“Damn.” he said after a breath.  “Can you, like, dry that shit into snortable form, man?  ‘Cause you could make a killing.”

Derek slid an arm under the pillow and wrapped his other snugly around Stiles, tucking his chin over Stile’s shoulder, so they were cheek to cheek.  “Breaks down too fast.  They figured out how to stabilize it, but it’s complicated and requires... uhh, power?  Magic, I guess?  They usually make it into a lotion, but in the end it’s cheaper to just pay a guy to come on you.”

He tried and probably failed to hide the fact that he knew that from personal experience.  Kate, yet again.  Kate in every corner.

Stiles was already starting to move in small leisurely rolls, groaning after a second.  “So, am I supposed to be feeling like using you like my own personal bouncy castle, right now?  Because, I gotta tell you, there’s a serious _need_ going on here, and I’m not sure I won’t hurt myself.”

Derek wrapped a leg around and held him close for just a few seconds, breathing in deeply at the base of his ear.  “Wasn’t there a Rule about this, Stiles?  Think you can stop fucking yet?”  Stiles shook his head, quickly and emphatically.  Derek laughed a little and added, “I got you, Stiles.  I won’t let you hurt yourself.  What you’re feeling, this is all part of the ride.  It’s all part of the _now_.”

Stiles laughed, and stretched and bucked along Derek’s body, laughing and begging and cussing as they rolled around, rutting savagely at times, fucking like kings at others, but holding, always touching, always reaching for each other, shuddering out occasional orgasms almost as afterthoughts.

Enough that it was getting sloppy, his come squeezing out and spreading on their thighs between them.  The slick rub on his balls set Derek off again, and Stiles clambering in response, pinning himself back on to Derek and rocking _hard_ until he came again as well.

Not long after that his knot finally started to soften up, slipping out easily with all the slick.  He helped Stiles move and stretch in ways he hadn’t been able to for a while, gently kneading his legs and ass.  He helped Stiles roll over on to his back and then pulled him to the edge of the bed, so that his ass was hanging just a little bit out.

Stiles had been making a small whining noise since Derek had pulled out.  It stopped just as soon as Derek slid careless fingers into him as he knelt on the ground between his legs.  Stiles shuddered and sucked in a breath he probably didn’t realize he’d been holding.

He coughed out half a laugh.  “This is... I gotta be honest with you, man.  This is pretty fucking intense.  My ass is completely fucked out.  I mean, it has to be, right?  But I don’t want it to end.  Like, I feel like I could die if I stopped right now.”

Derek looked up at Stiles, resting his head on Stiles’ thigh.  “It wouldn’t kill you to stop, but it would mess with you.  For a long time.  You’d feel weak.  And drained.”  He let his hand slide up and down the flat planes of Stiles’ belly.

Stiles was looking at him with narrowed eyes.  He was listening.  Good.  “You should never walk away from a spell half-finished.  Put that in with your other Rules.”

“So, fucking you is a spell?”

Derek shrugged a little with a smirk.  “A simple fuck?  No.  Fucking you through the full moon, having you call me Alpha, having you give in and take and submit, filling you up with me so much that you can feel me coming out of your pores?  Yeah, that’s a spell.  That’s a way to make you Pack even though you’re still human.  By the time we’re done, you’ll understand.”

“So, I might just like, have to have a god-damned prolapse in order not to break this ‘spell’?  Is that what you’re saying here?”

Derek smiled soft this time.  “Didn’t I say I’d take care of you?”

Stiles nodded, eyes wide and wary as Derek dipped down and swiped at his hole with his tongue.  

“Holy shit–” Stiles choked out, dropping back on to the bed.  His voice was already coming out slurred.  “That’s just...”

Derek hummed in agreement, knowing exactly what Stiles was feeling.  Warm and soft, all the hurts softening and fading out.  At this point their arousal was so constant that Stiles might not have even noticed he was fully hard again.

Derek licked.  Gently licked his ass, his balls, his cock.

There wouldn’t be any more rocket highs in store for Stiles now that his body had adjusted somewhat to whatever was in his blood stream.  Now, Stiles was just going to feel good.  Waves of warmth and euphoria, pleasure and contentment would fill them both, their senses finally starting to come together, psychologically easier now that all their inhibitions had been lost and they were both very susceptible to one another.

He’d gravitated down.  Stiles had let his legs drop open and had taken himself in hand, sliding casually over his dick.  Derek sat on his haunches, arms resting over Stiles’ splayed thighs, face buried deep between Stile’s legs, for long minutes loosing himself completely, nothing but wolf mind, knowing that Stiles could feel that, too, could know what this part of Derek was as intimately as he could without actually becoming wolf.

Derek rose when he felt Stiles start to move with a bit more purpose, watched him as he squeezed himself, then ran his hand over his shaft, slow but tight.  Stiles slowed when he met Derek’s eye’s, raising one lazy eyebrow.  

Derek smiled his most cocky.  “Hope you have a little energy left, because if you want that in me, you’re going to have to do the work for it.”

Stiles had more than enough energy.  Even enough to flip the cheap mattress on the cot so Derek wouldn’t have to lay in the mile-wide wet spot they had made.  And enough to fuck Derek nearly thorough said mattress, not groaning so much as gasping with every deep hard thrust he made, keeping Derek's cock hard with a tight and brutal grip until Stiles was close to coming, then stripping him with the same intensity, ripping an orgasm out of Derek just as Stiles filled him, not doubt exactly the way Stiles wanted it to happen.

Which, as far as Derek was concerned, was perfect for him as well, to have the rush of orgasm precede the bond-strengthening event Derek called Dropping the Bond, because sometimes, like when you were a puppy and your mom did it to you, it really did feel like someone dropped a bomb on you. He and Stiles were, for a moment, linked completely, experiencing the world through one another's minds.  

And because they were physically joined, for a few seconds it was even hard to remember where one body began and the other ended.

There was a tightening in the mind, a concentration of energy on a particular part of the brain that _pulled_ at a packmate when needed.  Eventually, Stiles would learn to control it, enough that he would be able to touch Derek’s mind with his own feelings with pressure as light as a breath to something heavy enough to paralyze him for a few seconds.

It was called a Quickening, what Stiles was going through, the first time he made true contact, reached parity in his ability to communicate with the pack without the use of words.  It happened at birth in packs and it happened when new members joined a pack.  Of course, when it was a matter of a new werewolf joining the pack, a Quickening involved a lot less effort.  And usually no sex at all.  Which, considering how often your parents were a part of your pack, was pretty much just as well. 

But Stiles was human, and there weren’t all that many ways to do this that didn’t involve commingling large amounts of bodily fluids.  In this particular situation, Derek found himself unable to be sad about this.

The cresting moon was shining over Stiles’ back, so that when Derek looked back behind him he was black as ink surrounded in a stark white halo, but he could see a flash, a responding light of recognition to his Alpha red, Stile’s eyes shining ice-blue and predatory for a moment.

There were good feelings coming from the kid.  Feelings of connectedness and of being grateful for that connection, knowing with absolute clarity and without a doubt that he would never be alone again.  Also, he was drowning in a sea of sex-based endorphins, and things were starting to have the feel of a religious experience, and _that_ thought made Stiles want to go right the fuck to sleep.

Derek thought that sounded like a good idea.  They could eat when they woke up.  Then they could do this again, until they got sick of each other’s faces.  

Then, they could fuck each other’s faces.

 


End file.
